


82 Years

by archdemonblood



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dark, Fluff, M/M, hurt comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-11 23:30:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9042050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/archdemonblood/pseuds/archdemonblood
Summary: A series of short scenes from an AU where Ariana never died and Dumbledore and Grindelwald never parted ways. The scenes span 82 years, from that summer in Godric's Hollow to the first downfall of Voldemort, and alternate PoVs.  Christmas gift for thepeanutgallery/forgottentexts!





	

1899.

Albus sighed. “He’s never going to forgive me for this.” 

“Yes,” Gellert said, with such conviction that Albus believed him. Gellert crawled behind Albus on the bed, ran a hand through Albus’ hair, and rubbed at his neck. “He is. Not for a long time, perhaps, but when this is over, and he sees how much better the world is for what we’ve done, he will forgive you.” 

“But it seems so unfair.” 

“It never was fair,” Gellert said. “It was unfair that this responsibility fell to you in the first place. It was unfair that your mother died. It was unfair that your father was sent to Azkaban. What happened to your sister was--It was beyond unfair. We have a chance to right some of these wrongs, but you know there will have to be sacrifices.” Albus liked Gellert’s warmth against his back, and the soft tickle of Gellert’s breath on his skin, even in the mid-July heat. 

“I just didn’t think the first sacrifice would be my siblings,” Albus said. 

“Shhh,” Gellert said, his soft hands still working the tension out of Albus’ shoulders. “We’re not sacrificing them. You recall that had _my_ formal education not come to an abrupt and involuntary stop, we would never have met? These things have a way of working themselves out. How are Aberforth’s marks?” 

“Adequate,” Albus said. _’Barely,’_ he thought. 

Gellert leaned around Albus’ body to get a look at his face. “That’s either high praise indeed from a man who was top in his class, or kind to the point of being a falsehood.” Gellert’s tone made it clear which he thought it was. 

Albus smiled. “Our mother had bigger concerns than what marks Aberforth and I received in school. I did well because I wanted to, not because I was pushed. I’m sure that if I tried to take more interest in Aberforth’s schooling than his own mother did, Aberforth would find it overbearing and it would destroy our relationship.” 

“Which would be a _shocking_ turn of events,” Gellert said. “You seem to get along so well now.” 

Albus rolled his eyes. “Gellert, it couldn’t be more obvious that you’re an only child. Aberforth and I may never be the best of friends, but there is plenty left to destroy. And deciding his fate for him in _either_ direction just might do it.” 

“No one has full control over their fate, Albus,” Gellert said. “Aberforth ought to understand that better than most. Now, I needn’t ask you about his behavior; I’ve seen Mr. Collins from down the street pounding on your door first thing in the morning three times since I arrived here, and I don’t believe that it was yourself or Ariana with whom he was angry.” 

“Wizards in glass houses...” Albus said. 

“But that’s my point! Albus, your brother is lashing out at a system that has on every level failed and betrayed him. I understand that very well. But we have a chance to _fix_ that system, for him and for me and for so many others. In the meantime, is sending him back to a school where he’ll be forced to pretend every day that he’s not _screaming_ because the Statute of Secrecy robbed him of his entire family really what’s best for him?” 

Albus held his chin in his hands and thought. 

Gellert pushed on. “Would he even be safe at Hogwarts? If I wanted to kidnap someone from Durmstrang, It would be the work of hours, _most_ of which would be spent getting up and down that fucking mountain.” 

“Hogwarts is quite safe,” Albus said. 

“ _Quite_ safe?” Gellert echoed. “Safe enough that you’d stake your brother’s life on it?” 

“No one is going to try--” 

“You said yourself that we’d be opposed, Albus. It would not be the first time that magical life was sacrificed to protect muggles.” 

Albus’ face dropped. 

“If he remains here, _we_ can protect him. We have already discussed how we might shelter your sister. We need only expand those plans to include your brother.” 

“Ariana will do as she’s told,” Albus said. “Aberforth--” 

“Needn’t be given a choice.” 

And that was it. A decision made, wards put up around the house (It would suffice until things became more serious), a bag packed: a pocket full of coins and two week’s worth of clothes. A letter left on the kitchen table, containing only _one_ apology, all that Gellert would allow. 

There are choices you make in life that can’t be taken back. That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t make them. 

1908.

“Yes--well--” the man flinched. “Your brother sends his regards...?” 

“And goat shit,” Gellert said, slumping his chair and breathing through the collar of his robes. 

“I--uh--” Demyan Vankin was a rather skittish young man on a good day. That was why they gave him _easy_ assignments, like guarding Ariana and Aberforth. Gellert wouldn’t have taken Demyan on as a follower at all, except that Albus cautioned that they needed all of the supporters they could get and that it would not be wise to alienate allies in this crucial time. 

“We were very clear,” Albus said. He seemed to be having no trouble breathing, though Gellert couldn’t imagine how one ever got used to that smell. “You weren’t to be seen.” Albus reached for his wand, but Gellert couldn’t take it anymore. 

“Just get out!” he yelled. “Shower!” 

Demyan exhaled loudly. “Thank you, sir.” He disapparated with with a pop, leaving only a vaguely unpleasant smell behind him, which would surely dissipate in a few minutes. 

“Gellert,” Albus said, “we really should have--” 

“Isn’t it you who is always telling me to be more merciful?” Gellert asked through his shirt collar. “Or hex him later, if you like. I don’t care. I just want to breathe again.” 

Albus took a deep breath. “No, you’re right. It was an honest mistake, and I should let it go. It’s just... difficult, to be understanding when it comes to the safety of my family. You understand?” 

Gellert nodded. He removed his face from the collar of his robes. “I understand your concerns,” he said. “But, whatever their flaws, my parents don’t throw shit at the guards we send them. If Aberforth doesn’t _want_ guards, perhaps we should look into other solutions.” 

Albus shook his head. “Aberforth doesn’t want another solution. He wants me out of his life. I never should have abandoned them--” 

“It is not abandonment if we send them guards and money,” Gellert said. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. Fine. We’ll keep sending guards, and next time we will choose one that actually understands stealth.” 

“Calderon,” Albus said. “She’s good at avoiding detection, and even if she’s caught, I can’t imagine Aberforth throwing goat feces at a lovely young woman.” 

“She’s going to be _so happy_ that we’re pulling her out of Los Angeles to go babysit in Scotland,” Gellert said, “but fine. If Calderon is your pick then Calderon it is.” 

They’d been building their army for several years now, travelling around the world and gathering followers in as many different places as possible. They had attracted moderate attention from several governments--enough that they felt it necessary to keep their families properly guarded--but they hadn’t quite shown their hands yet. It was nearly time, though. Gellert could feel it. 

1917.

The wand was easy. They’d stolen it years ago, and now they passed it back and forth with ease, letting whomever they felt was more likely to need it wield it. Even the most loyal of wands was quite willing to be shared, particularly by people who loved each other, and the Elder Wand was no different. 

The ring and the cloak were different matters. Returning to Godric’s Hollow now was risky, although Albus found himself occasionally homesick for it. In any case, as Gellert often reminded Albus when he brought it up, they’d spent an entire summer poking around Godric’s Hollow and come up with nothing. Ignotus Peverell’s descendants had likely long since moved on. 

So they’d turned to books. Gellert devoured tome after tome of necromancy, hoping to stumble across a power that could only have come from the stone. Albus stuck to books of genealogy and historical facts in search of the cloak. He’d begun with the Sacred Twenty-Eight, for no reason other than that it was easiest, and come up with nothing, so now most of his research was a shot in the dark. 

Still, they held on to hope. 

It was almost a sort of date night for them. It was certainly a welcome break from the stresses of their larger mission. When they read together in bed, Albus resting on Gellert’s firm chest, or when they sat together at a table piled high with books and notes they’d been compiling for nearly two decades, Albus felt young again. At his lowest points, it was those days--days when it was just him and Gellert, basking in each other’s quiet contemplation and occasionally sharing breakthroughs or theories--that reminded Albus of why all of this would be worth it in the end. All he wanted was to be with Gellert, to research and live, openly and in peace. 

Albus scooted closer to Gellert. 

It had been a more innocent time, that summer. They’d been so young; so full of passion and hope and Bathilda Bagshot’s cauldron cakes. These days, they were usually full of passion and energy potions and a growing sense of urgency about the state of the world. 

But Albus was being cynical. They were here. Together, still, after all these years, with an army and a future. _A future_. It seemed to Albus that he’d been fighting for a future as long as he could remember, always having it snatched away just when it was within reach. It was only with Gellert that he thought that perhaps he might actually catch it some day. 

Gellert noticed Albus’ eyes on him. He smiled, and rubbed Albus’ leg with his own. 

Albus caught Gellert’s eyes, and allowed himself an open smile. “Remember when we did this in Godric’s Hollow?” 

“How could I forget?” Gellert asked pleasantly. “Meeting you was life-changing.” He laughed a little. “I wanted so badly to impress you.” 

“Well, you did,” Albus assured him. After a moment, he asked, “Is your aunt still alive?” 

“Missing her?” Gellert teased. 

“I’ll have you know that I considered her a dear friend long before I met you,” Albus said. “But I particularly miss her cauldron cakes, at the moment.” 

1926.

They didn’t have a sign, or a secret dress code, or anything to give them away, to each other or to anyone else. 

They didn’t need one. They simply knew. The sparkling blue eyes gave it away. The glasses and the auburn hair pulled into a tight bun only confirmed it. Albus had transfigured himself into a rather pretty woman in an ankle-length red dress. He’d even done his makeup. Either he really wanted to make this a good Christmas, or he was enjoying this a bit too much. 

Gellert felt that his own disguise looked quite a bit plainer, but in his defense, he hadn’t had the time Albus had to prepare. Gellert had transfigured his blonde hair a bit longer, but only to the length of his chin, in keeping with American styles. He’d kept his mother’s Hungarian nose, though he’d feminized it slightly, and he’d matched his eyes to the darker color, making them by far the most striking feature on an otherwise pale face. He hadn’t had the time nor the desire to experiment with makeup, and he’d left his own dress the same dark blue color as the suitrobe he’d transfigured it from. 

Gellert sat down across from Albus at the table, and was pleased to not receive a single scandalized look for it. My, how times were changing. Women dining alone together would have been unthinkable in his childhood. Now, Gellert felt invisible. 

“You’re late,” Albus said, sipping his nettle wine. 

“Some people have obligations on Christmas,” Gellert said. “Extended family to be bored by, children to give coal to--” 

“You didn’t actually give his children coal?” Albus asked. 

“Only the really annoying one,” Gellert said, reaching across the table and grabbing Albus’ wine glass. “I promise.” He took a long sip, and then smirked at Albus’ disapproving look. “I’m kidding, Albus.” It was bad enough they were going to be ruining the Graves Family New Year with the revelation that the real Percival Graves had been kidnapped. Gellert was at least trying to let them enjoy Christmas. Even the annoying nine-year-old. 

Albus sighed, and stopped the waiter as she walked by. “Excuse me, will you bring another glass of wine for my friend here?” 

“I can’t get too drunk, you know,” Gellert said, taking another sip of Albus’ wine. 

“I can,” Albus said. “And I actually received a Christmas card from Ariana and Aberforth this year. That’s cause to celebrate.” 

Gellert grinned, admiring the red lipstick stain that Albus had left on the wine glass. “Indeed it is. I told you he would come around.” 

Albus nodded. “You did. It makes the holiday feel a little less lonely.” Albus looked at Gellert and frowned. “Did you tell Mrs. Graves that it was a work emergency?” 

“I did,” Gellert said. 

Albus nodded. “So we have... two hours?” 

“Give or take,” Gellert said. He put his hand up on the table, open and inviting. “There’s a lot we could do in two hours.” 

Albus smiled. “Let’s start with dinner. I’ve already ordered for us.” He took Gellert’s hand and squeezed. “I hope we won’t be spending too many more Christmases like this.” 

“Drinking cheap wine in New York?” Gellert asked. “No, next year, let’s go for champagne in Paris.” 

“Love,” Albus said, looking into Gellert’s eyes seriously, “when you were late, for a moment I thought...” 

Gellert squeezed Albus’ hand. “I was just late. You needn’t worry about me.” 

“One mistake. That’s all it would take for me to lose you.” Albus sighed, and squeezed Gellert’s hand back. Gellert was here, now. Right now, the danger was minimal. Sometimes that had to be enough. “Champagne in Paris sounds lovely, next year.”   

1935

Albus had had better days. The blood under his fingernails had dried, and the pain had dulled. There was powerful magic preventing him from casting any wandless healing spells, but he was still alive, and Gellert was still free. It was only a matter of time. 

Albus rested against the wall of his cell, one of the few comforts he was allowed. He hadn’t eaten in 24 hours, though he’d been given some water early this morning. The ‘cell’ he’d been locked in had a base of maybe six square-feet, not remotely large enough to comfortably lie down in. 

He didn’t know how long he had until he’d be pulled for ‘questioning’ again. He hoped it was long enough for Gellert to get here, but if it wasn’t... Well, they had known this would happen one day. They had practiced resisting advanced interrogation tactics. 

_Remember to breathe. Think of the cause. Think of each other. Recite fairy tales or magical laws from memory in your head. Show no fear._

Albus knew how to do it again. But he really didn’t want to. 

Luckily, he didn’t have to. 

Albus had no idea who the witch that brought him a cup of water was, which was intriguing, because when she opened his cell door to hand him the water, she knelt down so that their faces were level, and she clearly mouthed the word “Ignusaqua,” before standing up, and casually turning and walking away, shutting the door behind her. 

Really now? Albus carefully spilled a splash of the water on his chains. 

Nothing. They were toying with him. 

It was probably good to drink, anyway. Albus raised the cup-- 

\--and stopped halfway to his mouth. 

Fire water, of course, required human blood as a crucial ingredient to it. It was common to leave this ingredient out, leaving the water harmless (if baring a slightly stale taste) until it was added. It was often use to discover and kill vampires in the 15th century. It was a deeply flawed test, both morally and academically, but that was of little concern to Albus now. 

It would have been nice if the witch who’d brought him the water had bled into it for him. Albus felt he had done quite enough bleeding for today. Dipping his bloody fingers into the potion wouldn’t do at all; he would rather like to keep his fingers. 

But a bit more blood now would save him a lot more later. He bit down on his lower lip until he felt the skin break beneath his teeth, and tasted coppery blood in his mouth.  He sucked it in, mingled it with his saliva, and spat it into the cup. 

This time, when he splashed water onto the chains, the chains evaporated. Another splash onto the wall behind him opened up an exit to a back hallway, where of course two more guards were standing. 

But these guards, Albus _did_ know.They were followers, though how Gellert had planted them here, Albus couldn’t say. One pulled out his wand and quickly transfigured Albus into someone darker-skinned, several inches shorter, and wearing a guard uniform. 

All Albus had to do now was manage to walk out the door without limping. This required a moment of mental preparation, but was manageable. He walked right out the exit with the wizard who’d transfigured him, staying just a step behind the other man, a distance that could be attributed to their difference in height and not the fact that Albus had no idea where they were going. 

The guard that remained behind put up a glamour charm to hide the damage to the wall. Albus had a little bit of time before his escape was noticed. 

Albus had never been so relieved to step out into cold March air. Where were they? Denmark, maybe? But not Copenhagen. This was a small village, which unfortunately meant that Albus had to walk much farther, gritting his teeth through the pain, before they were out of sight, and his guard could grab him and side-apparate. 

The guard let go of Albus as soon as they’d apparated, and he transfigured Albus back as Albus was lifted into the air and gently deposited on a bed. Gellert appeared beside Albus, and though Gellert’s brows were knit with worry, his hands were steady as he cast the healing spells, easing Albus’ pain from his feet to his bloody lip. The guard left as soon as he arrived, surely eager to return to his post before he was exposed. 

Once Albus’ physical pain was gone, Gellert climbed into bed with Albus, both of them fully clothed and on top of the covers, and pulled Albus close. “You scared me,” he breathed into Albus ear. His arms stayed around Albus, tight and possessive. 

“I didn’t tell them anything,” Albus said. 

“That’s _not_ what terrified me,” Gellert said. “Plans can be changed. I could have lost you.” 

“I told you it was scary,” Albus said. “Now you know how it feels.” 

“Mmm,” Gellert growled into Albus’ neck. “You don’t get to deflect this. Who should I kill first?” 

“You’re not killing anyone if it means moving from this bed.” Albus reached up, grabbed Gellert’s arm, and squeezed. “I don’t want revenge--” 

”I do.” 

”--I just want to lay here with you.” 

That quieted Gellert. He shifted his hold on Albus, and some of the tension left his body. Whatever Gellert wanted, he understood what Albus _needed_ , and he focused on providing it, for the moment. 

Gellert _would_ kill everyone who had hurt Albus, because, in a strange way, that was how Gellert expressed affection. But right now, for the first time in the longest twenty-four hours of Albus’ life, Albus knew peace, and he drifted off to sleep in Gellert’s arms wishing that it would last forever. 

1944.

Gellert could always tell when Albus really needed a break. The Dark Arts and death weighed on Albus in ways that they never weighed on Gellert. Gellert could let it go, rationalize it all away. Albus could only do that to a point. It was a good thing, really. Albus was the heart of their movement, the conscious. 

And sometimes, Gellert looked into Albus’ eyes and realized that the heart of their movement was breaking, so he’d been forced to find increasingly inventive ways to remind Albus of why they were doing this. 

They were supposed to go to Budapest to discuss plans for central Europe, but Gellert had changed those plans when Albus wasn’t looking. Instead, when Albus woke, Gellert told him to dress for rain. 

“It’s not raining in Budapest,” Albus pointed out. He always checked the weather reports before getting dressed in the morning. 

“No,” Gellert agreed. “It’s raining in Tyrol.” 

“Tyrol? Has the meeting place changed? Is the Budapest safehouse--” 

“No. I rescheduled Budapest. Aranyu can handle things on her own for another week.” 

“What’s in Tyrol that’s so important?” 

Gellert considered this for a moment. “Success,” he said. “Something I think you badly need to see.” 

While Gellert and Albus had yet to seize full control of any national government, they had pockets of control throughout the world. Small villages, like and including Godric’s Hollow, had been the easiest to turn to their viewpoint. In villages with small muggle populations, it took little to convince wizards that they had nothing to fear from living openly. The muggles, outnumbered and outmatched, rarely fought the change when it came. They now had a dozen villages where kids as old as fifteen had never known the oppression of the Statute of Secrecy, and none were a better example of the utility of the Statute’s abolition than Zauberstadt, in Tyrol. 

Even in the pouring rain, the village radiated warmth and the air felt cleaner. As soon as they apparated into the town square, Albus’ eyes were drawn to a quidditch game going on above them, and Gellert saw Albus _smile_ for the first time in perhaps a week. 

It was a rare and blessed sight to see magical children being allowed to openly exist as magical children, but here they were, flying above their village without a care in the world, while the wizards and muggles alike looked on from below in excitement, cheering them on. 

“Remember,” Gellert said softly, “They’re allowed to do this because of us. Would you like to watch them?”   

Dressing for rain of course meant charming his glasses, to Albus, so he could easily see them if they remained out here, likely more clearly than Gellert could. 

“Very much so,” Albus said. 

They found a bench, and with a few waves of their wands, they dried it off and shielded it from further rainfall, making it an idea place to sit and watch the rest of the Quidditch game. Gellert draped an arm lazily over Albus’ shoulder, and Albus snuggled in close to him. 

They had no idea which team had more points, of course, but that hardly mattered in Quidditch. The seeker in blue was getting much closer to the snitch, so Gellert’s money was on the blue team. 

The team in red scored three times before their attention was diverted by a soft voice. 

“Mr. Wizard?” 

That was an equally accurate way to refer to both Albus and Gellert, so they both looked at the little girl who stood before them. She was a child of maybe nine years old, dressed in muggle clothes, with long dark hair and brown eyes. 

“Do you need something?” Albus asked. “Where is your mother?” 

The child pointed to a nearby shop. “I told her I wanted to watch the wizards.” 

Albus scooted closer to Gellert. “Would you like to sit here?” he asked. 

The child bit her lip. “Okay,” she said, and then she crawled onto the bench next to Albus. 

Gellert thought that would be the end of it, but after a minute of watching the game, she spoke again: “Mr. Wizards, I have a question...” 

“My name is Mr. Dumbledore,” Albus said. “And his name is Mr. Grindelwald. And we have many answers.” 

This was true, though Gellert did not often waste his indulging children. Albus seemed to be enjoying the little girl’s company, though, and if her curiosity warmed his heart and lifted his spirits, it was well worth being patient with her. 

“Okay,” the little girl said. She waved her hand, and a branch from a tree across the square broke away and came rushing into her hand. “Can I be a witch if I can do that, Mr. Durmbel...?” 

Gellert laughed, and it quickly infected Albus too. “Yes,” Albus answered through his giggles. “You can certainly be a witch if you can do that!” 

“Good!” the girl said firmly. “Because I’ve been practicing, but my cousin’s said that I couldn’t be a witch no matter what. They also said that witches weren’t real, though.” 

“Well,” Albus said, “cousins aren’t always right.” 

“Keep practicing,” Gellert said, eyeing the young muggleborn appraisingly, “and I think you’ll be a very good witch some day.” 

“Thank you!” the little girl said. “But my mommy is done shopping now, so I’ve got to go.” She hopped off the bench and headed toward a large woman who’d just exited a bakery. 

“She’s been practicing,” Gellert said cheerfully. “We’ve come a long way since the time of obscurials.” 

“Indeed we have,” Albus said. 

“And that’s thanks to us!” Gellert said. “It’s thanks to us that she can recognize what she is, and she’ll start school miles ahead of where she otherwise would be. It’s thanks to us that she won’t be lost among a foreign culture during the early years of her education. And it’s thanks to us that she’s safe, both from a family that might hate her and from an outside world that has been through a recession and is going through it’s _second_ brutal war. That child may never remember your name, but she has you to thank for everything.” 

Albus smiled. “Sometimes I forget...” he said. 

“I know,” Gellert said. “It’s hard. But we’re close, and soon it will all be worth it.”   

1953.

Albus would never forget opening his eyes on that sunny spring day and thinking, _’We’ve won.’_

_’It’s over. We’ve won.’_

It all felt like a dream. It had, of course, been a long time since any had dared to confront Albus and Gellert head-on. They were, without a doubt, the most powerful wizards of their time, and their possession of the Elder Wand only cemented that as fact. Still, a token resistance had been carrying on for the last five years, ending in an epic battle last night, at the end of which the ministers of no fewer than five nations were dead. 

The white sparks of surrender went up into the night in such a dazzling display that it felt like a celebration. Perhaps they’d make it a tradition. 

There were tears on both sides, even from Albus’ own eyes. Both sides wept for their losses, but the victors cried heavy tears of relief, as well. They had won. They had won, they had won, they had won, and they would never again live in fear. 

Albus’ father hadn’t lived to see this day, and that thought made Albus’ heart hurt. Ariana had, though, and now she could walk in the sunlight. That was all their father had ever wanted, and Albus hoped desperately that their father would be proud of Albus for giving this to her. 

They had won. 

Their first act as victors was going to be to clean up the very large mess left by both the Statute of Secrecy and their war to end it, and reconstruction was going to be a slow and painful process, but there was a future now. After years of fighting and having everything slip through his fingers, Albus had his future grasped tightly in his hands. 

A free sister, a better world, and the man he loved at his side. 

Albus and Gellert had stayed up all night, drawing out the finer points of the surrenders of all the nations involved. Preliminary treaties were drawn up and signed, new Heads of State were appointed, and official announcements were made in every language that Albus knew and several that he didn’t know. 

Over night, the world had changed forever. 

They had _broken_ it in order to change it. Albus knew that. When Albus had gone to bed, they’d been getting reports of muggles rioting in the streets of every major city in the United States. Gellert had promised that deal with it while Albus slept, but Albus did not expect Gellert to tell him that the muggles had all been given some tea and permitted to talk about their feelings until an understanding was reached. Gellert had promised him to handle the rioting bloodlessly, if possible, but that didn’t mean it would be handled gently. 

Muggles were easy enough to scare, and the American Aurors worked for Albus and Gellert now. _All_ Aurors worked for Albus and Gellert now. 

After waking, Albus found Gellert leaned over a desk, composing an official statement on, from glancing at it, the status of muggleborn wizards in their new world order. Albus and Gellert had no problems with muggleborns, of course; Albus’ own dear mother had been one. Albus would be pleased to finish that statement himself and get it out as soon as possible. 

“How are things?” Albus asked, surprised by how hopeful his own voice was. 

“We knew the transition would be painful,” Gellert said. “The war was only the first of the pains.” 

“But is all as expected?” 

Gellert nodded. “So far, yes. The Aurors have been given strict instructions: troublesome but nonviolent muggles are placed under house arrest on a first offense and actual arrest on a second--though I don’t think it’s come to many seconds--and troublesome but nonviolent wizards are being taken straight to jail. They can remain there until you and I have time to discuss just what we’re going to charge them with. I would like for there to be some consistency across the different nations.” 

Albus said nothing. 

Gellert sighed. “Don’t look at me like that,” he said. “We’ve talked about this part. We flipped the world upside-down less than thirty-six hours ago. People are going to spend a few days panicking. Right now, our job is to keep a lid on a boiling cauldron. If we even half-manage that, things will be fine in a month.” 

Albus forced a soft smile. “You’re right, of course.” 

Gellert reached up and took Albus’ hand. “We’ve done the right thing,” he promised. “For the Greater Good.” 

1962.

It was a horrifying sight. There was no way around that. Gellert had witness and occasionally even caused some horrible things, but this was beyond horrible. This was disturbing. 

The bodies hung there, limp and lifeless but with their feet waist-height above the ground, like twisted marionette puppets. Five of them in all. A family. A man, a woman, a teenage girl, and two little boys not yet old enough to have received their Hogwarts letters. 

_Mudbloods Not Welcome_

The words were scorched into the earth in front of the bodies. Above them, a skull with a snake coming out of its mouth loomed ominously, glowing a violent green in the early dawn light. 

Albus’ hand was pressed to his mouth, as if he were afraid he’d vomit if he removed it. Gellert wrapped an arm around him and squeezed reassuringly. “Did you know them?” he asked. 

Albus shook his head. 

One didn’t have to know them to be horrified, of course. Gellert was horrified, and this wasn’t his home. 

“Who are they?” Gellert asked the Auror who seemed to be in charge here. Though there were at least half a dozen Aurors and three muggle police officers in sight, most of them seemed to be focused on keeping crowds away from the gruesome scene. 

“Jeremy and Claudia Guinness,” same the answer in a thick Welsh accent, nodding to the adults. Then he turned to the children: “Sadie, Niel, and Brody.”   

“The girl is a muggleborn?” Gellert guessed.   

“They’re all muggleborns, sir,” the Auror said. 

“I see,” Gellert said. It was rare, but it happened, that two muggleborns would fall in love, get married, and have children. Their children, having no magical grandparents, were legally considered muggleborn, despite being raised in the magical world. Gellert had no problem with this, despite being a pureblood from an old family. He had met some exceedingly powerful muggleborns, and his own partner was a half-blood, though that wasn’t a fact that Albus advertized. Gellert had little patience for pureblood-supremacy. In more than a thousand years, it had achieved nothing but to tear wizards apart. 

But this was beyond logic. This was about hatred and greed. 

They had expected muggles to riot in the streets. They had talked through their plans for that, and they had put the riots down quickly. Life had gone on, and these days, muggles and wizards alike woke up in the morning and went to their jobs and existed side-by-side, and most were perfectly happy with it. 

They had not expected this. Perhaps they should have. Perhaps, in all the time they spent discussing the pain and suffering that muggles inflicted on wizardkind, they should have looked in the mirror, just once, and seen what they did to themselves. They should have seen the hatred, and the pureblood supremacy. 

They should have seen the people who would be furious with them for abolishing the Statute of Secrecy, not because they had accepted a life of cowering before weaker beings, but because the abolition of the Statute of Secrecy gave muggleborns opportunities they had never had before; because it eased the cultural divide between muggles and wizards and made it harder and harder for those who espoused pureblood ideology to differentiate themselves from those they hated. 

“Who’s behind this?” Gellert asked. Before the Auror could answer, Gellert cut him off. “Not the people holding the wands. Who is _behind_ this. They left a calling card.” Gellert nodded up to the skull and the snake. “I’m familiar with how this works. A calling card means that this isn’t a one-off hate crime. It’s a movement. Someone had decided that muggleborns aren’t as afraid as they should be.” 

The Auror nodded. “They call themselves Death Eaters, and they serve a man called V--Well, he calls himself the new Dark Lord.” 

Gellert’s eyebrows raised. They had called _him_ a Dark Lord, back in the day, and Albus too. It had annoyed Gellert and infuriated Albus. To take the name for oneself was the mark of a true egomaniac. 

But this? Attacking children in the night and leaving their bodies in a horrifying piece of found art for their neighbors to enjoy in the morning? This was... childsplay. It was the play of a very sick child who needed a long time out and a conversation with several doctors, but it was childsplay. It took no skill and no great planning. It was a temper-tantrum. 

Unfortunately, it was a temper-tantrum that had been happening with increasing frequency over the last few months, and this was a step up in severity. Albus and Gellert wouldn’t be dealing with this personally at all if they weren’t worried. 

“We will deal with it.” The voice was not Gellert’s, but Albus’. He’d finally removed his hand from his mouth and found his voice. “Send us everything you know about this ‘new Dark Lord.’ Starting with this name.” 

1971.

Aberforth stubbornly refused to move into their London compound. He’d been holed up in Hogsmeade for long enough to watch three generations of some families go through Hogwarts, and Albus was quite certain that he was claiming that he was of no relation to Albus, as if ‘Dumbledore’ were a remarkably common surname. 

Albus allowed him this. He couldn’t begrudge Aberforth for clinging to what normalcy he could, for himself or for Ariana. Let them run a pub and deny their infamous older brother when prying school children ask. It didn’t really bother Albus, as long as they kept them guarded and he could assuage his fears that the Death Eaters--who had been increasingly critical of Albus and Gellert--might strike against their family. 

_Their family_. They didn’t spend enough time enjoying their family. Albus _missed_ his family, even though he’d been welcome in Aberforth’s home for many years. He felt as though he’d missed his chance to watch his little brother and sister grow into the man and woman that they were now. So much had changed about them, and yet so little, and Albus would have liked to make up for not being there during their formative years by being there, as much as a ruler of the world could, for the winter of their lives. 

And so Albus had dragged Gellert here for Ariana’s birthday. Gellert loved Albus enough not to grumble about it, and to pretend to be far more interested than Albus knew he really was about Aberforth’s goats and the pub business. He’d complimented Ariana’s sweater, and worn the scarf she’d knitted for him. Albus knew Gellert well, and this was not the sort of thing that tried Gellert’s patience; his ability to stay awake, perhaps, but not his patience. 

The only person--if one wished to use that word--that really seemed to have Gellert’s proper attention was Smokey, Ariana’s cat. 

Gellert didn’t dislike animals, though he had always been more of a dog person than a cat person. Albus had never known him to mistreat an animal, except where it was absolutely necessary to test a magical theory that they didn’t dare risk human life to. 

It was rare, however, for animals to really take a shine to Gellert. Smokey seemed to be an exception. He had settled into Gellert’s lap within minutes of Gellert sitting down, and when Gellert finally surrendered to this and ran his hands over Smokey’s soft grey fur, the cat began to purr contentedly almost instantly. 

When the claws came out, Albus worried, for a moment. Gellert tensed, and sucked in a soft breath in anticipation of pain, but it didn’t seem to actually come. The cat kneaded Gellert’s trousers for at least half an hour, and Gellert took it, admirably, until Smokey decided that he was quite finished, and returned to lying still in Gellert’s lap and purring up a storm. 

Albus slipped in next to Gellert on the sofa and smirked at him. “You have a friend.” 

“I have many friends,” Gellert said, scratching Smokey behind the ears. “Few of them have claws like this.” 

“I beg to differ,” Albus said. “You’ve always preferred friends with hidden claws. But ah, it’s time for cake.” 

1981.

Albus had gotten the baby to stop crying. He was good with children. In another life, he might have made an excellent father, and grandfather. Or perhaps a teacher. 

Gellert did not have the same talent with children. He looked at the infant in Albus’ arms and saw a squirming, incoherent mess that would break if he dropped it. That wasn’t even a concern with adults. Children were stressful. 

This one, however, almost made up for it by being interesting. The first Aurors to arrive on the scene had cleaned the blood from his forehead, so now the deep pink lightning bolt was clearly visible. There could be no doubt about it: This child had been hit by the killing curse and he’d lived, and he would bear the proof on his face for the rest of his life. 

Albus held the baby out to Gellert, and Gellert took him, nervously and with some coaching from Albus. Support his head. 

_Don’t drop him_. Gellert had never dropped a baby before. He couldn’t actually remember the last time he had dropped anything. On the other hand, most of the things he held didn’t squirm and cry. 

The boy had big green eyes that gave no indication that they understood the horror that their owner had been through. Gellert wondered, perhaps inappropriately, if the child would be able to see thestrals when he was older. It was a trivial question. 

“I see great potential,” Gellert said. “Not greatness.” 

“You don’t think him capable of what they’ve claimed?” Albus asked. 

Gellert shook his head. “This child could be a remarkable wizard, if properly trained, but he isn’t one now. He didn’t kill Voldemort. He was a tool, at best.” 

Albus raised an eyebrow. “Intriguing,” he said. In Albus’ eyes, Gellert could see the answers to questions he hadn’t yet thought to ask. Gellert loved these moments. He loved _Albus_ in these moments. 

Gellert didn’t ask Albus for his theories. He didn’t have to. He just looked at Albus with hungry eyes, and Albus knew. 

“A Protection,” Albus said. 

Gellert turned this over in his head, then nodded. “His mother was found dead in front of him...” he agreed, “but it would only work if he hadn’t planned to kill the mother anyway. It is my understanding that she was just as formidable a member of the Order as her husband.” Albus had taken the lead on all efforts to stop Voldemort over the last few decades. It was more personal for Albus, and Albus enjoyed spending time in Britain, interacting with the people in ways that were, if not exactly positive, productive. Gellert took the lead on government matters while Albus was so occupied, which was exactly how Gellert preferred it. 

“A significant hole in my theory, yes,” Albus said. “But there may be pieces to this story that we do not yet know.” 

”It’s worth looking into,” Gellert agreed. “And in the meantime, it wouldn’t hurt to give the people a hero. One too young to speak for himself could be exceptionally useful.” 

“And when Voldemort comes back, what will we have signed this child up for?” Albus asked. 

Gellert looked down at the fragile human being in his arms, whom he so far hadn’t dropped, and let the statement sink in. He didn’t argue with Albus about whether or not there was any chance of Voldemort coming back. They were both well aware that Voldemort’s interest in horcruxes dated back to well before either of them knew his name. It seemed almost certain that he’d made one, and quite possible that he’d made more. 

Gellert tried to step back; to distance himself from those big green eyes and that soft baby skin. He wanted to hand the child off, but he couldn’t ask Albus to shoulder responsibility he wouldn’t take himself. “For the Greater Good,” Gellert said. “A powerful wizard, one that Voldemort can’t hurt, whom we trained him all his life to be ready... Could we do better?” 

Albus considered this with all the solemnity it required. “Very well,” he said at least. “I will make arrangements.”


End file.
